


As The Moon Waxes

by thequeenmeera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, He went nuts and had to be put down, I'm not salty I'm mad, One Shot, Pregnancy, Requested, Why yes I did spitefully kill off Jon, or maybe not angst but insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: A Bran x Meera one-shot requested by Anonymous





	As The Moon Waxes

**Author's Note:**

> I know the title is a bit weird but hey, I had to come up with something!  
> And no, I do not regret killing off Jon.

Bran tried to keep still, a bitter irony for a crippled man but his tossing and turning woke Meera and he’d been unable to sleep without waking her for weeks. The nearer her time came the harder it was for her to sleep and she woke often anyway because of the discomfort. He didn’t want to risk Meera leaving him in favor of her own bed. The bed that was situated in the Lady’s Chamber neither of which Meera had used since before their wedding night.

Meera was sleeping peacefully now at least. She’d followed some of the men while they hunted that day after she’d finished with her duties as lady of the household. None of those men had dared tell their lady she was far too big to sit a horse, much less ride after a hunting party but it was only a stag they were after and Meera went slowly with two men to look after her. “I hate that I’m trapped in this castle” she’d told him, “I needed to get outside for a few hours almost as much as I need these babes out of me.”

 _Hunting_ , he thought and without hesitation reached out for Summer’s mind. The wolves had gone far over the last few days but eventually Bran caught hold and slipped into Summer’s skin where he could run.

He sang to the moon and ran after prey. It was full day and his mouth had been full of hot, sweet blood when he was dragged out of his wolf by Meera shaking him. “You promised you wouldn’t do that to me anymore!” she shrieked when he came to. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright with fear. The light that floated through the open shutters made her shift nearly transparent and Bran blushed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She groaned and looked toward the door before turning back towards him, “What do you have to do today?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

She gently brushed the hair off of Bran’s face and his heart skipped a beat. For a moment he hoped she’d climb into his lap and ride him but it was too late for that. “Then you should rest for a few more hours. I’ll ask Maester Walder to bring you a sleeping draught tonight.”

He stayed in bed and Meera closed the shutters before she left with the two handmaidens who had helped her dress. She waddled a little when she walked. Bran closed his eyes and tried to sleep. The tossing commenced.

As soon as sleep took him he dreamed the same thing he had been dreaming for weeks. He was in the godswood, in the heart tree, watching children play in the wood. He’d seen hundreds of children playing there in visions, he’d played there himself. But in his dream the darkness encroached about the little ones. When they cried out no one heard but Bran. Cold water or flames or the darkness of death filled the wood and the children were swept up helpless and Bran could not reach out with branch-arms. No matter what happened or how he strained against his constraints Bran could do nothing but watch, helpless as his children breathed in death.

The days grew colder, grayer and Meera grew rounder. She picked at her food and snapped at him when he asked her to eat more. She told him she was a woman grown and didn’t require his instruction. “I was here for your ninth name day Bran at which you refused to eat vegetables and spitefully made the Frey boys eat them instead. You are the last person I need instruction from.”

“The lord looks no more than a boy to have gotten a grown woman with child,” he heard one visiting bannerman remark some days later. Bran had only sparse hairs upon his chest and could not grow a full beard yet, all that came in when he failed to shave was patches of red fuzz about his chin. He rubbed at the fuzzy patches that had sprouted about his face while he brooded. There was no Maester Luwin to turn to, to say “But I did get her with child. With two in fact.” And Rickon was his younger brother, Bran wasn’t about to say such things to him. Though why should he defend himself? The lords were not wrong, Bran had been surprised himself when Meera had told him.

They’d been lying in his bed, holding each other after their lovemaking. Bran careful not to squeeze too hard, frightened she would shy away or leave him for her own bed even though they were both half asleep and comfortable. Even with his seed on her legs and his lap wet from her riding him. She’d murmured the words in his ear, “I’m with child,” and he’d forgotten how to breathe for several long seconds.

The most surprising thing of all was that Meera had stayed in his bed after their wedding guests had thrown them in the bed together. He’d expected her to leave, likely with apologies, holding furs around her lithe form so he wouldn’t see more than he already had. Instead she’d inched towards him until they were pressed against each other. He’d reached and pressed his hand over her collarbone, felt her heart pounding through his fingers before he moved his hand down to feel her. She’d kissed him; tentatively at first but their kisses soon became frantic and deep. She’d stayed with him all that night and every night since. Even when she was bleeding, Bran had been told that most wives kept to their own beds then or their husbands left them alone in the lady’s chamber as other men didn’t need their wives joining them in the lord’s chamber. And she stayed with him on nights where they only held each other which happened more often than the nights she pushed him back amongst the pillows and rode him.

The queen had been so pleased with their news when she’d visited Winterfell last, her dragons too large to even land in the yard now. “Your house needs heirs,” she’d told him solemnly at first but then she’d smiled, “And you’ll like being a father, you’re well-suited to it. It is the greatest joy in this world,” she’d said. Her own son by his cousin had flown with her on the dragon he’d claimed for himself; so young for the task but he had perfect control. A strong boy of six who looked so like Jon but had little of his dourness. And none of the madness. The prince was the queen’s greatest joy but looking at the love the mother had for the son and the son for his mother opened a wound deep in Bran’s heart. Holes that could never be filled.

In the present the year drew towards its close, the snows fell deep, and Meera’s belly swelled, waxing like the moon. It even looked like a moon the night she’d pulled off her shift to show Bran just how big she really was. The light from the candles reflected off the skin that was stretched tight, marked and cratered and as he examined her new rotund shape one of the babes kicked, pressing outward, leaving the clear impression of a foot near her navel. Bran brushed his fingers over the spot, realizing he was separated from his children by nothing more than a bit of skin. “Does it hurt?” he asked her. She shrugged and told him it was mostly uncomfortable, not usually painful.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“Soon. Any day I think.”

Bran ran his fingers over and around her belly, marveling at how large she’d grown when she’d been so thin and delicate that first night. “Are you afraid?”

Meera bit her lip, and covered his hand with her own, holding it still. “Of course I’m afraid. I’m not large, my hips were always narrow, and there are two of them. But at least I have all these midwives and Maesters on hand.”

“Your mother too.”

“Yes,” she smiled at him though her eyes were shadowed, making her look sad. “Are you afraid?”

Bran considered his answer, “I’m terrified.”

“Why?”

“I’m only seven and ten. I feel old most of the time but there are other times when, well, I still feel like a boy. Did I tell you I can’t remember my father’s face? Not really anyway. I recognize him when I see him in the trees but if I try to recall his face or mother’s voice I just can’t anymore.”

Meera had turned her head to look at a candle flame, “I have the same problem with Jojen. I know if I were to see him again, I’d know him. But I can’t quite picture his face.”

“So it’s not just me.”

“No.”

Bran could feel movement inside Meera, a tiny hand pressed against his fingers and he gasped. “Is that a hand?”

“It might be,” Meera was smiling again.

“Do you think I’m too young? That I’ll make a good father?”

Meera released his hand and leaned over to touch his face, running a finger over his lips. “You’ll be a very good father, Bran.”

He nodded, some of the weight released from his chest, “Alright, I trust you.” For good measure he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers, “And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Meera whispered back before she gasped in pain, her hand flying to hold her belly.

“What’s wrong?”

Meera waited until the spasm passed to answer, “You should probably call for help,” she said at last.

**Author's Note:**

> You like?


End file.
